


The Fall of a Romantic

by nebula_vs_supernova



Series: Fandom Oneshots and Drabbles and Everything in Between [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Complete, Cynicism, Gen, Mentioned Relationship (Almost), Romanticism, Suicide Attempt, Well of Sorrows, it never actually happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebula_vs_supernova/pseuds/nebula_vs_supernova
Summary: Inquisitor Trevelyan has drank from the Well of Sorrows. It certainly didn't make him happier.





	The Fall of a Romantic

**Author's Note:**

> Based on gameplay up to right after "What Pride Had Wrought". Backstory is all conjecture. Pay it no mind.
> 
> I did not look this over. I'll come back to proofread later.
> 
> Notes for more in-depth explaination of the "suicide attempt" tag in end notes.

Things were different once. At least, he thought things had been different. He hoped they had, but when he tried to remember everything seemed  _ warped _ like he was looking at it through an unsteady pool of water. Each memory came with hissing whispers he didn't think were there before.

Before, he had been the beautiful child of Lord and Lady Trevelyan. Mothers had cooed at him  _ 'such a handsome boy’  _ and  _ 'he’s so well-behaved, Lady Trevelyan. You must be so proud’ _ . He'd been raised preening at a constant litany of praise.

_ Oh, but how quickly they sing a different tune. _

He was still in his early years when he'd shown signs of  _ magical inclinations _ . House Trevelyan would never have shuttered him away outside of the circle. His older sister was starting her Templar training that year. To have an apostate living in their home would have been a death sentence.

_ And better your death than theirs. _

Father wrote him for the first year, but then Mother’s pregnancy bore him another son. He'd heard of his brother from his uncle twice removed who was once of the Templars in the Ostwick Circle.

In the Circle, Maxwell had excelled. Magic came easily to him, puberty had been kind, and Uncle-Twice-Removed Galen brought him treats from outside the Circle sometimes. Though Circle life was kind to him, his peers weren't. The Templars liked him too much, his teachers praised him too much, and he was too pretty.

_ Jealous children. Cruel. They deserved what they got. _

They didn't, he thought. He may have had few friends in the Circle, but those years were fairly happy still. When news of Kirkwall's fall, First Enchanter Lydia had assured them that peace would be preserved, and Maxwell had gone on as if he was none the wiser.

_ A mistake. A mistake. A mistake. You should have run while you could. _

He had missed the paranoia among Galen’s friends and comrades. A Templar, Lisbeth, set the library on fire while several of the mages were studying. By some odd coincidence, Maxwell, a mage just out of his Harrowing, was there with all the trainees. Back then, he was good at fire magic and had been able to clear the fire enough for most to get out.

_ You should have left them to burn. _

After the fire, he couldn't even summon sparks to his fingers without remembering choking on the smoke. Lisbeth was exiled from the Circle, and Maxwell asked the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter Lydia for permission to leave for the mage delegation. The night after he left, the Circle fell.

_ They deserved it. They should have burned. _

Then, Divine Justinia was dead, and his arm burned with a power that wasn't his own, and he was leading the Inquisition. He wasn't Maxwell. He was Inquisitor, Lord Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, but he wasn't some divinely chosen hero. He was just Maxwell Trevelyan.

_ It's your power now. You can remake the world in your image. _

But he didn't want to. He didn't want magic. He didn't want to have to relearn another branch of magic because he couldn't use his specialty anymore. He didn't want to be able to slip into the Fade physically. He didn't want people looking to him as the leader.

_ But you are, you are. Use it. Make them understand. _

All he had wanted was to be cherished again, but all anyone saw was his  _ face _ . Dorian, Bull, Josie, Seeker Cassandra, they all made comments.  _ 'How pretty you are, Inquisitor’ _ ,  _ 'got a pretty face, huh, Boss?’ _ ,  _ 'certainly there is someone with a claim on a handsome man like you, Lord Trevelyan’ _ ,  _ 'you are…um, you are certainly not lacking in looks, Inquisitor’ _ . After that, Maxwell stuck to spending his free time with others.

_ Being pretty isn't a vice to bear. It is a virtue not many are afforded. _

Sera told him when he was getting too serious.  _ 'You’re all uppity, Ink. Let's have some fun!’ _ Maxwell didn't always indulge her, but she left him happier. He'd gotten her candies once since she resented cookies. He didn't tell her how he'd begged the cook to teach him how to make them.

_ Too kind. Another mistake. _

Cullen was calmer to talk to, more professional. Maxwell worried for him more often than not though. He'd seen Galen go through lyrium withdraws once, and he regretted not asking Cullen to start taking it again, but it wasn't for him to decide. Blackwall was much the same: an interesting man with far too much guilt on his mind.

When all else failed, Maxwell turned to Vivienne. Though she could not fix his problems and he was fully aware that she was a snake, she put things in perspective. He appreciated that. He admired her, and he'd chosen to become a Knight-Enchanter because of her.

_ Stupid boy. Manipulative women and weak men make for little change. _

Solas put him off though. Something felt wrong about him, so Maxwell strove to avoid him.

_ In this, you are wise. _

Then Morrigan and him were standing at the Well of Sorrows, and all he could think was  _ 'if she drinks, what will happen to Kieran? What if the price is too high and she gives up the very thing she holds most dear?’  _ So he drank from the Well.

_ Stupid boy, making sacrifices for those who don't require it. _

Maxwell Trevelyan regretted nothing more.

He tossed and turned in his bed that reminded him of home in Ostwick, listening to the hissing whispers critiquing his entire life. The whispers thought he was too much of a romantic, too trusting, but what would he be if he wasn't that?

_ Me. _

Maxwell rose from bed, shaking with cold sweat chilling him further. The balcony overlooked the mountains that had almost killed him after Haven. Maybe it could kill him again.

_ Not yet! _

The voice threw him back, and Maxwell shuddered looking up at the railing he had been ready to climb over. The fall would definitely kill him. If it didn't, the cold would. Then again, maybe it wouldn't if broken bones and dehydration and hypothermia hadn't before. Maybe nothing would.

Maxwell leaned against the doorframe, curling into himself as he cried. There was too much noise, too many people looking to him to fix things, too many things that could go wrong, and he was all  _ alone.  _ How could he fix the Fade if he couldn't even fix his pyrophobia? How could he settle the world when he couldn't even settle himself into a relationship?

_ You haven't properly tried yet. _

He had though. After talking to Hawke, a romantic and an idealist just like him, Maxwell had tried to initiate a romance with Bull. He thought that maybe with the Qunari’s controlling nature, it would alleviate some of the stress of having to be in charge of  _ everything. _ It hadn't, but Maxwell had thought he'd be able to see it through.

Then Bull had said,  _ 'such a pretty little guy, aren't you?’ _ and Maxwell hadn't meant to, but he'd lost control a bit. Bull had laughed off the fact that he'd gone from about-to-get-laid to getting-thrown-into-a-stone-wall-with-the-force-of-a-pride-demon, but Maxwell hadn't been able to look at him since. He'd spent that night scrubbing his skin as hard as he could until Vivienne found him in the unlocked bathhouse in a pool of pink water, sobbing.

_ 'Darling,’ _ she said,  _ 'hurting yourself like this will only destroy your beautiful heart.’ _

_ Sappy woman. _

Maxwell sobbed until his voice went hoarse and the tears froze to his face. Then, he got up and got dressed. He would go see Dagna. Make armor for someone, or go visit Sera. Demand they play pranks today, or talk to Vivienne about the nightmares and the hissing whispers. Anything, as long as he wasn't alone.

_ You're never alone now. _

And he wished that was, in any way, comforting.

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically _italics_ not in _' '_ s are _theoretically_ the voice from the Well of Sorrows harrassing the pretty boy mage. He isn't thinking clearly and is stopped by the same voice before he can fall over the balcony (the one in the Inquisitor's quarters that if you jump off, you respawn back on the balcony). He then goes on to wonder what _can_ kill him.


End file.
